


Of Gods and Monsters, Fragment s2,1: Late June, 2077

by bzarcher, solarbird



Series: Of Gods and Monsters [15]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ace Moira O'Deorain, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Changing Your Mind, Conditioning, F/F, Fucked Up, Gen, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Justice, Lesbian Character, Memories, Memory Alteration, Oasis (Overwatch), Poly Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Recruitment, Talon Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Talon Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Talon Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Talon!Mercy, Talon!Pharah, Talon!Tracer, Terrorism, Testing a Theory, Unexpected Results
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 11:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14448486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbird/pseuds/solarbird
Summary: Moira O’Deorain has won. Her rivals within Talon destroyed, her trio of loyal Weapons - the Changed and copper-eyed Tracer, the silver-eyed Oilliphéist, and golden-eyed Widowmaker - at her command, to remake the world.Tracer has captured a terrorist involved in targeting the Omnic community, and brought him in. Angela and Moira could use a test subject, Pharah has security forces to fill out, and Widowmaker could always use another target dummy - so they offer him a choice.This story - a side-step/alternate-ending sequel toThe Armourer and the Living Weapon- will be told in a series of eddas, sagas, fragments, texts, and cantos, all of which serve their individual purposes. To follow it as it appears,please subscribe to the series.





	Of Gods and Monsters, Fragment s2,1: Late June, 2077

"Ah," the bronze-eyed blond woman - a familiar face, somehow - smiled. "You're awake. Good."

The Singaporean man in his late 20s jerked at his restraints. He had a name. They knew it, of course. But it didn't matter. _Where... how?_

A short, dark-haired woman with ludicrous hair and copper eyes stood beside the bed to which he was bound, smirking. "Won't get far with that, mate. And if y'did, well. Y'already know how far you'd get with me."

He shuddered, remembering, through a mind still a little but fuzzy, a little bit sedated. _Tracer_ , he thought, and nodded. She'd toyed with him. He'd fire, miss, she'd laugh, come up, hit him again, retreat, halfway bored, as though she was just keeping herself interested, as her compatriots smashed his cell, and everyone in it. "Time for the interrogation, then? You'll get nothing from me."

"Oh no," the taller woman shook her head. "Nothing of the sort. We already know everything you could possibly tell us. No, you see - we're here to help."

"Don't think you're worth it, myself," the shorter woman said.

"Please, Tracer. Don't tease him."

" _Mercy_ ," he said, squinting at the doctor.

"Beggin'? Still?" Tracer said, cheekily.

"No," he said, a little woozy, still focusing on the Swiss woman. "You're _Mercy_. You're... Overwatch?"

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Ziegler said, a complex mix of emotions playing across her face. "Though really, for you - that's for the best. They'd hand you over to Singapore security forces as quickly as possible. And... remind me, what is your body count?"

He spat, or tried to. "You tell me."

"Thirty-two," Tracer said, matter-of-factly.

"That's a lie. Two. Two real people. Traitors, but people. Thirty clankers, maybe - I didn't bother to count."

"Singapore would call it thirty-two," the doctor said, diction cuttingly precise. "And I assure you, Singapore's justice system would have every. little. detail. needed. to convict you on every count. Their courts are _quite_ efficient - and effective, at collecting guilty verdicts."

The man's eyes narrowed. "You're trying to make a deal with me. Why?"

Mercy laughed, a surprisingly friendly chuckle. "Oh, no. That implies you have something we want, and you don't. Not as you are now, anyway."

 _What?_ he thought. "What does that mean?" he said.

"We are giving you a choice. It is not a deal, but you may choose. We are ready to hand you over to Singapore, with everything they would need to convict you, quickly, and I think we all know that their version of justice is - how should I put this? - swift, strict, and final."

 _That's about right_ , he thought. "Or, what - I work for you?"

"That may be an option, but only after. You see, at the moment, you are broken. We believe we understand how. So, we are giving you an option. Let us fix you."

" _Fix_ me?!" he said, alarmed.

"Yes! Fix you. Fix your _mind_. If you assent, we will put you back under, and you will wake up in your apartment in Italy, fully aware of what you have done, but feeling," she shrugged, "rather different about it. You won't remember this, and, though you won't know it, a variety of other memories will have been changed. And next to your bed you will find a reminder of an interview you have with a new security services firm that day. That will, of course, be us, though you will not know that, either. What you choose to do then will be up to you."

"Change what's in my head. Death, or brainwashing? Die or... serve?"

"Hardly! Keeping that appointment will be entirely up to you. You may well decide that the correct action is to turn yourself in to Italian authorities, and confess your crimes."

"I'd recommend that one, m'self," Tracer said, as the man snorted derisively.

"Shush, dear," she said, glaring. "The Italian justice system is somewhat... odd... but it is signatory to European treaties, and as such, rather less final than Singapore's."

"And if I decide to keep putting those fucking clankers in the trash heaps where they belong?" he said, spitting the words. "You'll be watching?"

She smiled again, and said, with almost transcendent assurance, "We won't need to be watching. We know you won't do that."

 _The hell I won't_ , he thought. "Otherwise... it's back to Singapore for me. And death."

"Not necessarily death, but if that is what you choose, you have every right to take your chances with their justice system."

The anti-Omnic terrorist snorted to himself. _I've been threatened more by worse than you_ , he thought, though the strange, almost luminescent bronze eyes disturbed him, on some profound level, peering, making him feel... thin, somehow. Insubstantial, almost.

He sneered at himself, internally. _No. No, they've already got me on some kind of drug. They think this is intimidation? They haven't even hurt me yet. They can't change **me**. Not for long._

"I'm calling your bluff," he said, preparing for the pain he felt sure was about to come. He turned to Tracer, beside him. "Go ahead. Do your worst."

"Oh my, no," he heard a third voice say from the hallway, as his consciousness suddenly began to fade. "We're going to do our very _best_." He felt his hand get picked up, and his thumb pressed against a padd, and then he felt nothing at all.

\-----

"What the?!" he mumbled, waking abruptly, alarm by his bed jarring him out of a heavy, thick sleep. He squinted, and peered at the numbers, and fumbled with it, turning the annoying noise off.

He sat up, scrunching his face, rubbing his hand against his cheeks, trying to wake up, and succeeding. He shook his head, and then his arms, and his legs. _Damn. Don't sleep like **that** very often_ , he said, as his consciousness collected itself.

 _What's that?_ he thought, looking beside the bed. _Right. Job interview. 14h. Security job. Chance to infiltrate, set up a cell on the inside, off... more..._

He shuddered, suddenly remembering, remembering all the things he had done, and for which he had never paid, and for which he had never, ever sought forgiveness, and ran to the washroom, vomiting into the sink.

 _But... it's all they deser..._ he started to think, and he shuddered, vomiting again, the faces of his victims staring him down, lifelessly, bloodily in two cases, condemning him, inside his mind.

He looked into the mirror, seeing his face, sweaty, covered in sick. He vomited again, nothing coming up this time, feeling no less nauseated, now at himself, and feeling considerably more ashamed.

 _Why did ... how did I do... how... how did I... how did I get here?_ He saw his eyes water, as he thought, _How did I become **this?**_ and he fell to the floor, confused, and sad, even remorseful, and unsure why.

 _I need to talk to somebody_ , he thought, not sure where the thought came from. _Maybe, maybe, I should talk to, to, to... a priest._ He hadn't thought about his parents' religion in years - he'd never really thought of himself as Catholic, not even culturally, and hadn't been to mass since he'd left home - but somehow, here, in Italy... well. It was everywhere, and his mind grabbed onto that, hard, and held it. _Yeah. A priest. Maybe it's about time... I went to confession._

\-----

"He did what?" Oilliphéist asked, giggling. "Confession? He's _Catholic?!_ "

"I certainly did not anticipate _that_ ," Dr. O'Deorain said, shaking her head. "Utter superstitious nonsense. I fear we merely changed the focus of his mania."

"It just shows how much we still have to learn, dear," Mercy said. The Irish doctor smiled in response, and squeezed her wife's hand, thinking, _I do not deserve you - you always know exactly what to say._

"It's not all bad," Tracer said. "He's not killin' Omnics now. He even turned himself in, so he got there, eventually."

"A single shot to the forebrain would've been quicker," Widowmaker scoffed.

"We can be _better_ than that," Angela huffed, knowing they weren't, and the French assassin shrugged.

"We _need_ to build out our security forces," Pharah grumbled, looking over personnel levels. "Particularly in Italy. This is a slow and ineffective way to do it."

"Don't worry, luv," Lena said, gesturing to her mum and her bird mom. "They'll get it sorted soon. After all," she grinned, "they always do!"

**Author's Note:**

> To follow this story, [subscribe to the series via this link](https://archiveofourown.org/series/972024), rather than to the individual eddas or sagas.


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